Sannovan's Secrets
by LadyAkhana
Summary: Ch4! A shadowy girl shows up at Hogwarts. Who? Why? Where from? When she's accepted as a fourth year, what will people say? Or DO? She's quiet, but has a strange power...is she from YouKnowWho? Rating for later chapters: possible magical violence.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: If I owned it, I'd be rich. Sannovan and Maon are MINE, though, and any stealers are subject to extremely painful and fierytorture before death.

A/N: Well, everyone, here it is. Edited, of course, but back and better than ever. Flames will be used to burn their respective owners. Enjoy!

**Chapter One: Snape and the Sariot**

"She has eluded us again."

"I know, Master. There was nothing I could do once she got onto Hogwarts grounds. The castle's spells are far too powerful. Plus, _he_ is there."

"I know. That is likely to be a problem. But it is of no moment now. She does not know the power she carries within her. Thus she is still within our grasp."

"If she ever discovers it…."

"Then we will worry about it. Until then, I want her back."

"Yes, Master."

"And I will not tolerate failure this time, Maon."

"Yes, Master."

* * *

It had grown to twilight. There was a little girl standing near the middle window, with large, empty black eyes and white hair to her waist. 

Severus Snape suddenly appeared. He looked momentarily at me, registering me with a distasteful, rather irritated expression, and then turned to the girl. He said something, accusing her of something like murder or planning to murder. She threw something to me. Then she flung herself through the window with the same kind of blank, impenetrable calm she'd had all along. Uninjured, she ran away.

Snape rushed to the window. He leaned out, watching as she fled, and swore, angry that she got away. All the glass had been knocked out of the bottom of the window; he remained uncut even though he was resting his hands on it. One hand held his wand.

After he was through inventing new curse words, he turned to me. His words were harsh, and then he named what she had tossed and demanded it of me. It was some sort of poisonous fruit. The green stem part looked like the top of a strawberry; it was crystalline, jewel-like. The bottom was shaped like a long, thin teardrop, and the color and texture of a fuzzy peach. I knew that the stem broke away easily from the top like a cap, and that it was hollow on the inside, but filled with the venomous juice. Despite his insistence, I kept it. When he came toward me to get it, I ran from him.

He pursued me, of course. I had heard that Professor Severus Snape was not one to ask twice, nor would he wait long to take what he wanted. What he _did_ want, he pursued relentlessly and with the façade of either infuriating indifference or intimidating intensity. I reached the end of the building we were in, and then circled around. I went back to the room we had been in and jumped through the window. I landed on my feet on the grass below. He followed me; I ran into the main building and through it until I found many flights of stairs. At the top were rooms, like an attic apartment, with wood floors. They were once occupied because there was dust but not a lot, and a bed, desk, chair, and a bathroom. A reasonable second room served as the walk-in closet, with shelves for clothes and several items hanging as they were. It was not quite big enough to be anything but a closet, but it was larger than usual. I hid in the closet and closed the door, waiting in the impenetrable blackness for him to discover and punish me.

I heard his steps charging up the stairs; he merely slowed before opening the closet door. I was to the far left of the door; he walked in and turned to face me. He began an entire tirade: how could I have let the girl escape, who was she, who was I, how dare I run from him, why did I run in the first place, what was I doing at Hogwarts, and so on. He did not punish me.

He took a rather firm hold on my arm, not quite painful, and led me down to a large wooden door. Inside I saw a circular room, somewhat large. There was an antique beauty to everything. It was somewhat breathtaking. Silver instruments worked in whatever way they did on tables to one side. Portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses covered the walls. A few of them looked up as we entered. The claw-footed desk at the back was littered with papers, a bookshelf behind it. On one shelf sat a curious, tattered wizard's hat. The Headmaster himself seemed to carry his own aura of complete serenity. His face made one want to earn his approval; if ever he frowned, one feared, the disappointment of the dear man would shatter the heart. The depthless compassion in his sharp blue eyes was enough to make me weep of shame for every wrong thing I had done. Here was a man who looked past all faults to the true heart. Anything he heard was not only kept in confidence, it was answered with equal measures of wisdom, truth, and love, which sometimes made those answers painful, but they were always what one needed to hear.

"Headmaster," the professor said as he came into the room, myself not far behind and with no choice in the matter, "I found one." He shoved me forward—not hard, but with enough force to make me take two steps. "The first girl got away—she jumped through the window—but she ran off. She was unharmed by the glass. Before she jumped, she threw a sariot to _this_ one." He hissed the word, and handed the fruit with its lethal nectar to the kindly man.

The headmaster's snowy brow rose slightly as he examined it. "A good thing it has come into my hands," he agreed.

"She ran," Snape continued, pointing at me. "I chased her to the hidden tower. She attempted to hide, but I found her and brought her to you, since she has apparently been conspiring with _someone_ to murder. No one carries a sariot for good luck, you know."

He made a noncommittal sound, and then turned his benevolent gaze to me. "Well, child, what do you have to say for yourself?"

His gentlest tone commanded my most truthful answer. The very nature of the man made me eager to earn his trust. I can only imagine how he saw me. I was five feet tall, with a thinnish frame, which made me look fragile. I was beginning to develop a female figure, as I was fifteen, and I had deep mahogany red hair, which looked anything from brown to black, except for the distinct red shine. It fell to the bottom of my shoulder blades. My skin was twice as pale as that of the beak-nosed instructor behind me, looking almost translucent; it was frequently compared to a bed-sheet or a ghost. This made the color of my hair and my dark doe-like eyes stand out even more. My eyes appeared black unless viewed in direct sunlight, when their true deep blood color was revealed. I always had impeccable posture, more out of a sense of self than anything else, and I utilized every inch of my height. I was dressed in dark crimson, my skirt falling to the floor. My sleeves were loose but did not hang, with cuffs that buttoned twice. I answered in my somewhat quiet voice, firm and clear.

"Most of what the Potions Master has said is true. The six-year-old or so _did_ throw me the fruit, she _did_ jump out the window, and he _did_ chase me. I fled because I was startled and afraid. But I swear to you that I have not conspired to murder. I came from far away, so far I don't even remember. I did not even know what that was until I heard him name it just now. I noticed the girl first, and then Professor Snape. Things began from there."

The ancient man considered that for a moment. "This is a most unusual turn of events." He went over with a comfortable busyness and stroked the bright feathers of his phoenix.

"My suggestion would be to take that sariot to the nurse."

"Oh? And why is that," Snape asked with venom.

I gave him an impassive look. "If you empty it of the nectar and dry it out, you can grind it into a powder. That powder, if included in tea, will cure whoever drinks it of almost anything. It works about as fast as the nectar kills."

"How do you know this? Not even _I_ know that much on the sariot fruit."

My voice remained calm. "I remember reading something about sariot a while ago. I didn't think it existed until now. There is always something to learn, Professor, even when one teaches. Knowledge is useless without the wisdom of _how_ to use it."

"Brilliant display, young lady," the Headmaster murmured from his place near the phoenix. He next spoke next to the Potions Master. "Despite her lack of memory and her contrasting particular knowledge, what the girl says is too odd and too logical to be nonsense. So, it appears we must do what we can." His royal-blue robes flowed as he walked around the desk and came to me. "May I see this, please," he asked, lifting my right wrist.

I nodded, unable to speak, and turned back the sleeve of my shirt three times to reveal the tattoo of a loopy six-pointed star just up my arm from my wrist, on the inside of my arm.

Professor Snape was mildly curious. "What is that," he demanded of me.

"Gently, Professor," Dumbledore murmured. "What is this mark, child?"

"It is a symbol from my homeland," I answered, not meeting his eyes. My gaze was locked on the stain coloring my skin. "It represents a vague concept of continuity, or eternity, because the threads never end." I traced the design. "The number of loops or knots is also important, as is the complexity of the pattern. It was given to me when I received my name."

"Well," he said, releasing my arm from his soft grip, "if you like, you may stay here."

Snape started to object. Self-conscious, I put my sleeve back down, buttoning the cuff again.

Dumbledore held up his hand, silencing the Potions Master. "Only witches and wizards can see this school for what it really is. And since only students or staff may abide on Hogwarts grounds, and you do not meet the requisite as a guest, I am therefore strongly pressed to make you a student at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Snape was making strangled noises.

The Headmaster continued over him. "You are too old to be accepted on a normal schedule; you must therefore learn through the summer. Professor Snape will instruct you in the art of potion making. Since we have no Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher as of yet, he shall fill that position also. If you learn enough in time for the school year, we shall place you in a house with others in your age group, adding you to that particular year as a transfer student. Until then, you may stay in the rooms you discovered." There was a polite knock on the door, and then a woman of advancing years entered. She wore a pointed hat with a wide brim, a long, sober gray gown, and a robe of emerald green. Her silver hair was pulled up into a bun, and her wrinkles gave her the look not of a crone, but of a woman who, although kind, had a will of iron and accepted no nonsense. "Is something wrong, Professor?"

She spoke in a hurried voice, sounding almost anxious. "I am sorry to barge in like this, Headmaster, but I just saw a girl with white hair running towards the woods. I heard about the window and I tried to stop her but she got away from me. She vanished right before my eyes—I think she may be a forest spirit. If so, then You-Know-Who or one of his former agents might have hired her to kill." She ended her sentence there, seeing me standing a few feet in front of Snape, who watched me like a hawk. She obviously wanted to continue, but chose not to as my presence complicated things.

"This is Professor Minerva McGonagall," Dumbledore introduced her to me. "She is the Deputy Headmistress and will be your tutor in Transfiguration."

I curtsied as gracefully as I could to the female teacher. "Professor," I said in greeting. "My name is Sannovan Silde. I am a new student." I pronounced my name properly, slightly stressing the "sann" in my first name with a pure S, and saying my last name somewhere between "shield", "Shild", and "sealed" with a tiny extra vowel sound on the end.

"I will explain all in a few moments, Minerva," Dumbledore told her. "Professor Snape, take Miss Silde to Diagon Alley in the morning and properly supply her for learning. Your expenses will be reimbursed, so do it well. And let nothing happen to her."

He looked rather demeaned by having to shop with and for a teenage girl, but he acquiesced to the Headmaster's request—which was taken as an order, as most of them are—and led me from the room.


	2. First Lessons, Diagon Alley

**Chapter Two: First Lessons, Diagon Alley, and the Nature of Some Things**

We traveled to London on the Hogwarts Express, much faster now that it was only carrying two cars behind its engine and none of the crowd. On this trip, it was only the engine, a Pullman car so we could sleep on the ride, the caboose, Professor Severus Snape, and I. My first lessons about magic were aboard that train, actually. Since I remembered nothing, I learned about the differences between wizards and ordinary, non-magical humans, called Muggles, and about why we don't use magic in front of them. You see, most Muggles can't accept magic. Their minds are too used to doing things the ordinary way that they don't bother with anything else, and don't want to. He began my lessons in proper wand use—part of the Defense Against the Dark Arts course—and had me perform the disarming _expelliarmus_ spell.

"No, like this," he told me, demonstrating the correct way to wave the wand during a Wizard's Duel for the third time. I was using a spare wand from one of the cabinets in the Dark Arts room—rather stiff, too. I attempted again; he came around behind me. The Pullman car we practiced in was one long aisle, two rows of curtained beds on one side and a wall on the other. There was a hall on the other side of it, for passers-by to walk from one car to the next without disturbing anyone inside. The door to the sleeping cabin was at the front end. "Here." He took my right wrist in one hand. "Bring it back, and around," he said as he guided me. The mark on my wrist began to burn into my arm; I had no idea why. My hand went numb. Only the fact that I was already holding it kept my wand in my grip; I could not feel my muscles to move them and let it go. "When your arm is up, bring it down sharply and straighten it to point at your enemy, reciting the spell to end as you stop the motion." He released my wrist and I repeated the movement slowly. My tattoo prickled suddenly and the feeling rushed back to my hand. The blood tingled in my veins as if it were a Muggle soda pop. Was this what using magic felt like? "Good," Snape said. "If you do it right, it will fly off the end and neatly knock your opponent's wand from his—or her—grip. Now. Shall we try it?" He held his wand up before his face and turned away from me.

The entirety of the lesson, from the learning to the assessment, took about an hour; he only won the first time. His stern and somewhat mocking comment put steel in my spine and determination in my heart; I was fast and fierce after that. I knocked Professor Snape's wand from his hand the six other times out of seven before he let me go to sleep. "You learn quickly," was his only sentence afterward. I felt quite good about earning a compliment as I fell into a lower bed. The soothing _click-clack-click_ of the wheels on the rails and the gentle rocking motion put me to sleep almost instantly.

The train had left at around eleven p.m., and arrived approximately five in the morning. The lessened weight saved four hours on the ten-hour journey. I was not happy about the early wake-up, but I got up anyway. The sunrise was really quite beautiful; I suppose five hours of sleep was worth it.

We ate breakfast in a highly-trafficked hostel called the Leaky Cauldron. One thing I noticed was that there were no windows on the Muggle side, so it was a bit dark. It was filled with all sorts of people, most of who recognized or greeted the Professor on sight. He chose to keep me anonymous, and I was more than glad to let him. Not everyone was…reputable-looking. I thanked him for the meal, as I hadn't eaten in at least eighteen hours; he shrugged it off. Actually, he looked as if he wanted to leave me in a room upstairs and have a drink; his temperament had not noticeably improved on the train ride.

But he rose when I had finished and led me from the room. His businesslike pace made me think he had almost forgotten I was there, and made his black robes billow out behind him. He stopped at a door. "This door leads us out to Diagon Alley. It will be busy, and best if you stay close to me. I will be cross at having to look for you if you lose yourself. Do not leave my side."

I murmured my agreement beneath his withering stare, not meeting his piercing black eyes.

Diagon Alley was a pleasant sort of place, filled with warm and benign people. They were rather nice, and most were conversing or going about their business with easy manners. To be sure, there were concerns and problems, but there was no malicious soul about them. My spirits lifted tremendously.

My mind went back to Professor Dumbledore's room. The gentle old headmaster's last comment puzzled me. It was no more than a vague confusion and a slight worry that I easily put to the back of my mind, but was still there. The problem closer at hand was the enigmatic Potions Master Snape at my side. He was like a dark shadow because of his swirling robe and habitual black clothing, and his pale face continually almost scowled to ward people off, but there was a peculiar quality to his slighting remarks and his seemingly pessimistic attitude. I knew there was a deep reason for it, so buried in his heart that nearly nothing would be able to bring it out.

We arrived at Ollivander's, the Maker of Fine Wands; he opened the door for me and followed me in.

Inside, every available shelf—and there were many—was covered in small boxes. Entire walls were nothing but these boxes. Each one contained a wand. "Well, well," the storeowner said, hearing the bell over the door. He came into the main room. Ollivander was an old man with large, pale eyes. He gave me a strange glance and then looked to the Professor. "And what occasion is this that the Potions Master comes to my humble business? I hope the wand I sold you hasn't broken. I remember every wand I've ever made—every single one. Yours was nice and strong, quite flexible…."

"No, no, Ollivander," Snape said quickly. "It hasn't broken. I have come here on the behalf of Professor Dumbledore and a new student. This is Sannovan Silde," he introduced me, surprisingly accurate in his pronunciation of my name. I curtsied to the wand-maker.

"Let me see," he murmured, looking closely at me. "You know, the wand chooses the wizard—or witch—" he said, making concessions for my sex, "not the other way around." His gaze was strangely piercing. I felt that he was merely observing intently for some sort of higher intelligence, which would assess me and make a choice based on whatever qualities he saw. A momentary theory flashed past my mind: perhaps each wand had a consciousness, if only to a tiny degree, and perhaps that consciousness was within Ollivander's mind. Perhaps each wand saw each customer that came in, and if so, then _that's_ how the wands chose their wielders. Perhaps existing in his mind until they had chosen, they left their mark on his mind, and _that_ was how he remembered them all.

He made a thoughtful sound and then went to his walls. He puttered around, muttering to himself. Then he selected a box from an eye-level shelf. "This one ought to do just fine." Turning, he came around his desk and presented me with the now-open black case. Inside was a wand of dark, brownish-red wood, smooth and polished. "Take it," he encouraged. "Give it a wave." I reached in and took it. The length was warm and dry. It felt well balanced in my hand, comfortable. It also seemed as if it would flex well, but was not _very_ soft.

As he suggested, I searched for something to wave at, settling for the plain wooden quill container on his desk. If the inkwell shattered, I reasoned, the ink would ruin everything. With a gesture and good intent, I turned it into a prettily carved short glass vase.

Professor Snape was slightly surprised; his brows shot up.

"Astonishing results," the wand-maker said brightly. "But I was right again. Good." He handed me the case. "Bloodwood, my dear," he told me. "That's what it is. Bloodwood for you, with phoenix ash at the core. Fifteen and a half inches. You will do quite well," he predicted. Strangely, the opinion and statements of this odd little man mattered much to me.

"Thank you," I murmured quietly. I put the wand case into my dress pocket.

Professor Snape came forward to reckon the price and handed the man the appropriate amount. "Our next stop is the pet store. Have you chosen as to a toad, a cat, or an owl?"

"I would like an owl," I said politely.

"Very well," he replied shortly. I wondered at his continued show of bitterness. Again he opened the door, swooping upon it almost like a black owl himself.

"Professor Severus Snape," the owner of the Magical Menagerie greeted him. "How are you this fine day?" Animals were everywhere. Toads had their glass habitats as they ranged from small to almost obese, owls were in cages, and I could hear the meowing of cats.

"I'm quite well, thank you," was the answer in his clipped tone. "This is Miss Sannovan Silde. She is looking for an owl to take to Hogwarts."

"She seems a little old to be a first-year," the owner noted.

"I'm a fourth-year transfer," I informed. "My other school didn't permit familiars. Do you have any snowy owls? They are so beautiful."

"Ah, yes, I have several." He led me toward the back of the store; my dark minder moved behind me. "This one is a bit flighty," he said, pointing to a smallish one. "He's still quite young yet. But his older brother here has a spark of belligerence in him. This one," he moved on, showing me the third, "is a sensible bird. She's still on the young side, but she's already made a place in the roost. She keeps sort of to herself, but can hold her own and more if she needs to." He looked expectantly at me.

"She's definitely an option," I said. I glanced at the rest. "What about the others?"

The man made a face. "They're each from different broods," he supplied, "and they all tend to be aloof. They're the sort that expect one to keep them immaculate and wait on them wing and talon." As he spoke, one screeched insistently. The shopkeeper drew a pair of tweezers from his pocket. He used them to work an errant piece of down from the edge of the talon where it met the foot. The owl hooted in some form of thanks. "See what I mean? They expect to be groomed, too, as if I were their slave. I'm surprised that brat Malfoy didn't choose one the moment he got here." He deposited the tiny feather in the wastebasket and replaced the tweezers. "The female doesn't take any of their nonsense, though. Good girl, that one."

"You are a good guess, sir," I told the man with a smile. "The lady owl in the center will be perfect."

"I've seen many students choose their—what term did you use? Familiars?—for a good few years now. I'm starting to get the hang of them."

"How is it that you have only one female?"

He answered as we went back to the front of the shop. "She was the only female to hatch this year. She was picked on at first, but she set everything straight in a few weeks. That's why the males don't bother her." He regarded me with some surprise. "Most students choose their owls from the Owl Emporium. How is it you came here?"

"The Owl Emporium may have become…overzealous…in their sales of owls, because that is all they sell. This may not be true, of course, since this is my first time in Diagon Alley, but I've seen that people who only sell one type of thing tend be concerned only with selling it, rather than its quality or to whom they sell."

"Well," he said, in a respectful tone, "I can see you're going to do just fine. Are you sure you're only a fourth-year? That was quite a wise insight for such a young lady."

"Yes, I'm sure." Again, Snape made the payment for me. "Thank you, sir. You were most kind," I bid him farewell. I took the cage from his desk. "And thank_ you,_ Professor Snape, for being kind enough to accompany me," I expressed my appreciation as we left. "She's so beautiful. Oh, look. She's even got a spot on her right wing, like me." I smiled, happy to make a friend in my new familiar. She hooted softly at me.

"Quite a coincidence," he said with heavy disinterest. "We are going to the bookshop now. I will tell you what you will need aside from the bundle the bookkeeper will have for you. You will need first- and second-year materials."

"I'm going to be pressing two school years' worth into approximately six weeks?"

"If you can learn everything in that time, you will study your third-year classes in the next month. Those books can be shipped to you by owl."

"Oh, my," I said, thinking exactly how much that entailed. It was going to be a lot of work. Saturdays and Sundays off were definitely out, too. _Oh, well,_ I thought. If it meant I was going to stay in the safety of the enormous castle and the care of the kind headmaster, I was more than ready to accept the challenge. Better than what I came from and certainly better than any alternatives I could think of.

The bookkeeper did indeed have first- and second-year books, and Professor Snape took me among the shelves to have me select two books I wished to have for myself. "For your extra volume of study," he said, "you may take this." He handed me a combination Latin dictionary and lesson-book, and it wasn't exactly that he was _allowing_ me.

I took a breath and took a chance. "You know, Professor Snape," I said, looking him pointedly in the eye, "books are of three natures, specifically their covers. They protect something wonderful, they tell what lies within, or they conceal their true contents." I was quietly firm, and I placed a minor emphasis on the third description. He well knew what I meant, for there was no mistaking my tone of certainty.

"I'm giving you a chance," he said sternly, as if that explained everything. He clung to his uninviting disposition, yet it seemed as if he were deeply shaken.

I knew it was small progress, but a start nonetheless. I could only pray I discovered what he meant before I botched everything.


	3. Revelations

**Chapter Three: Revelations**

Something we did while we were out was create a bank account for me. An owl swooped down out of nearly nowhere and landed on Professor Snape's shoulder; he took the letter from its beak and read it. Then it flew away.When the seal broke, a sizeable bag fell at his feet. He picked it up, jingled it, and then tossed it to me. "It seems Dumbledore is making sure you can survive in the wizarding world, Miss Silde." He handed me the letter, written in a lovely archaic script.

_Severus,_

_This money is for Sannovan. She needs to begin a life here; give half to her immediately. Put the rest in Gringotts. There it can compound interest and begin to accumulate. You are to finish purchasing her school supplies as per my original instructions._

_There have been recent developments of which I need to inform you; return as soon as possible._

_Albus._

He opened the bag and counted out twenty gold pieces, fifteen silvers, and twenty-five bronzes. "This is money in the wizard's world, Miss Silde. The bronze ones are called Knuts," he said as we walked to an immense white marble building. "There are twenty-nine of them to a silver Sickle, and seventeen Sickles to a golden Galleon."

"These are what you have been paying with." I examined the money.

"Yes. Stay out here. I will fill out your paperwork and bring you all the information you will need. Your key will need to be kept in a safe place, as well."

"I have one."

"Good." He gave me a last piercing stare before sweeping up the steps.

He returned after about a half-hour and gave me a regular-size silver key, engraved with a sort of dragon on one side. The details were exquisite; on the forehead, I noticed the same symbol I have on my arm—a six-pointed star, with loops off the points. It was puzzling, but I had no time to consider it as I was bustled into another shop. The key went into my pocket with my wand. I would put it on the silver chain around my neck as soon as I could.

After we had collected my cauldron, scales, glass vials, my robes, and a few other miscellaneous items for my room—these last I bought for myself—we returned to the immense, many-towered castle aboard the train. It was approximately six at night; the sunset was breathtaking as I sat at the window of our regular passenger car. A woman soon came around with a cart of sweets. "Would you like anything," she asked me.

"I'll have three chocolate frogs, please," I requested politely. They looked the most harmless aside from the lollipops and I didn't want to keep licking one of those like an idiotic little girl in front of the still-severe teacher before me. Maybe that's where he had gotten his name from, I speculated idly. I made a mental note to look "severus" up in my Latin book. After eating, I asked him who my other professors were.

"Your Divination Professor will be Sibyll Trelawney, third-year; Rubeus Hagrid has taken over the Care of Magical Creatures, also third-year; Mister Flitwick is the Charms Instructor; Mrs. Sprout teaches Herbology next year, and Madam Hooch will learn you how to ride a broom. Professor Binns, a ghost, will be your History of Magic instructor. As you already know, I will be teaching you Potions-Making and Defense Against the Dark Arts. McGonagall will handle Transfiguration. Your classes will begin soon after we arrive back."

I made a thoughtful sound and fell silent, brooding inwardly. He knew his attitude was one of the only things to keep him safe from everyone else; when he discovered it was not good enough, he struggled to _make_ it good enough. That particular barrier around his heart was very strong, and if something came along stronger, he grew fearful. It was not something with which he was prepared to deal. Whatever I did, I would have to be careful. I had frightened him in revealing that I could see through his desperate disguise. He despised himself for being afraid and me for scaring him. He would not forgive me easily.

I must have fallen into a doze as I stared out the window, because the next thing I knew, the black-haired man was shaking me by the shoulder and we had stopped. The wisps of a lovely dream cleared from my mind as I rubbed my eyes.

Professor Snape and I passed the enormous front clock as we went up to the room with one wall that only had a door on it. I asked the dark man about it. "There is a door because you see it," he replied. "It leads to the Hidden Tower. No one yet knows why you can see the door when a vast majority of us cannot. It is invisible to all but a few. Dumbledore can see it, and you can. We don't know about anyone else because we do not let the students up here. They stay in the dormitories, belonging to one of the four Houses."

"What are those four Houses?"

"They are named after their four founders: Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin." He said the last with slight emphasis and a note of pride.

"That one is yours."

"I am the head of Slytherin House, yes. Mister Potter belongs to Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall's House."

I gave a noncommittal noise. "So I've heard."

"Flitwick is head of Ravenclaw, and Sprout of Hufflepuff. I suggest you get some sleep, Miss Silde. Tomorrow is likely to be the start of a very busy summer."

After I deposited my new supplies in my room, I changed into the nightgown I had bought myself, remembering that I had none. With a few more Galleons, I had bought several bolts of cloth with which to make my own clothes. I would need to learn some sewing charms, I noted.

These were to be my rooms, as Dumbledore had told me. The bed was behind a short wall to the left of the door, the desk in the corner opposite that, and then a window straight across from the bed. The rest of the room was open and bare, except for a couch facing the corner. Professor Snape explained nastily that I was out of the way and no one minded me here. I was tempted to shove him down the stairs as he left, but I chose not to. I decided to sleep instead. Things might be better in the morning.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Dumbledore?" Snape's tone was flat as he entered the headmaster's office. The portraits were all sleeping, as it was night—or at least, they _looked_ like they were sleeping. The only three in the room were he, the white-haired man, and Minerva McGonagall.

"Yes, I did, Severus." The Headmaster's voice was serious. He looked to Minerva.

The woman drew a breath, as if she were unsure how her comments would be received. "Albus, this is most unusual. A student in the summer, _living_ here? Most of us barely have time to clean and prepare before the next year is upon us—but teaching, too? Three years in three months? We can't manage; I'm sure of it."

"The young woman's arrival is indeed a most…unique situation," Severus agreed.

The headmaster looked at them gravely, walking over to pet his phoenix, Fawkes. "I've called you both here because you both must know what I know.

"Miss Silde's tattoo is no ordinary mark." He turned to face them. "It is a very ancient, very powerful symbol. Its use was eradicated many years ago, long before Hogwarts existed. The wizard Merlin, the witch Morgan le Fay—not even Voldemort himself would have used it, even in such precarious situations as anything we have seen.

"The young woman's wand is another indication. Fawkes gave the ash that resides in her wand. It is most peculiar."

One of Snape's eyebrows rose, an expression of interest. "Ash?" he asked in his quiet voice.

Minerva gasped. "How did you learn this, Albus?" Her voice was very nervous.

"Ollivander sent me an owl the moment Severus and Miss Silde left his shop, the same as he did with Harry. He remembers the day Fawkes came to him. Fawkes went to Ollivander when he wasn't looking well, which is a very odd thing for Fawkes. Close to a burning day, the phoenix doesn't usually fly too far from the nest, as it will be vulnerable when it burns. But Ollivander says that he alit on a branch of bloodwood and then fell into ash. He poked his head out afterward and chirped at him, Ollivander tells me." Dumbledore smiled at the pleasant but rather irrelevant mental image of the baby bird. Then he continued. "Now Ollivander, never one to disobey what signs he saw, did as Fawkes asked, that very day. He uses only three cores, yet he made this exception. That in itself is a strong portent. He set aside the oaken wand he was making and completed the work for Fawkes, so he would know it had been done. Fawkes was gone for quite a while once, I remember. That must have been it. At any rate," he continued, "young Mister Potter and Lord Voldemort are no longer alone with their brother wands. They now have a half-sister. Since Fawkes gave his ash, it carries its own unique properties. It will not reverberate perfectly with theirs. The very nature of the ash is a question in itself.

"What this means for Sannovan we cannot say. Quite frankly, we do not know. No one has ever been given a bloodwood wand before, nor have there been three similar cores." He came back to his desk, and showed them the pages of a book that was lying open. "This is from _Banished: Magic of the Ancients,_ in the Restricted Section, one of the few books there _not_ about Dark Magic. The paragraphs I want you to read are…here, and…" He leafed through the book about five pages ahead. "…here."

The text read as follows, in an ancient script.

_The practice of naming as it meant when Stonehenge was new has been all but forgotten. It was an art and an empowerment. The ceremony took place when a child turned eight years old. It was at that time they were given a true name. Their given name was how their friends and family knew them. The true name is what gave one power; if one knew someone else's true name, they would have been able to curse them, bless them, or enchant them with the most powerful of spells. It was for this reason that true names were never recorded, nor were they told except to the most trusted mages and magic wielders. As an act of sacrifice, they were given to only the truest friends, showing the trust of putting one's life in another's hands._

_The names have no significance in these days and ages; no one has or knows true names anymore. Everyone goes by given names, as Muggles no longer believe in magic and the ceremony was long since banished by the 'civilized' world when time began. Great harm could have come to many people if it had been allowed to continue._

That section went on to describe the properties and uses of a true name for and against its owner. The two teachers skipped to Dumbledore's next bookmark, which gave some information on the symbols mentioned and why.

_When a wizard, mage, or witch child, one with power, received his or her true name, they also received a mark or special symbol upon his or her right arm. It was given as a warning, to always use power wisely and not to greatly anger someone with magic, for until trained the magic may come forth without direction or guidance, or in a proper form._

"Albus…this child…are you really saying that she could be from a line of ancient wizards, whose magic was lost, but the practices weren't? Could they have known in some way that one day Sannovan would be born?"

"Sibyll Trelawney's grandmother was a great seeress," the old man said. "The talent has been in her family for ages. I suspect one of her ancestors gave a prophecy in the high days when the wizards and witches were feared and respected by all. Magic was household back then, and superstition was high in all the 'civilized' world, as it is now. You might be right, Minerva."

"She will need to be watched, to make sure she tries nothing against any of us." The Potions Master scowled.

The headmaster smiled. "And since you have made the point, Severus, you may be the one."

Snape's face darkened. His mood deteriorated quite noticeably after that.

"We also need to consider the possibility that she has a twin," Dumbledore continued. "Twins were often more magical than anyone. Miss Silde could be so powerful that we cannot be sure. If she is the light, there may be a darkness."

"Or vice versa," McGonagall said in a worried voice.


	4. Mail and Classes

**Chapter Four: Mail and Classes**

When I woke up in the morning, _he_ was standing behind the chair, facing me like an angry shadow. The curtains had been thrown back and the window was open a little; I heard the happy comments of the teachers who had gotten mail from friends or family. To my extreme delight and surprise, two huge horned owls flew for me, dropping off a whole bundle of things. I let out a cry of joy. "Why are _you_ so excited," Snape asked in a decidedly condescending tone. It was as if he were miserable and hated the fact that I wasn't. He had received a letter from a small barn owl, but he seemed unconcerned of it. That took being a grouch to an extreme.

"This is the first time I've ever gotten mail," I explained happily. "Look at all of it!" On the top, I opened a large letter.

It contained the text of some poems I'd written, and then said that with my permission they were going to be turned into songs. I was ecstatic. _But then, who knew of the poems,_ I asked myself—I hadn't shown them to anyone. The envelope included a return address, but no signature. I shrugged it off and moved to the next item in my small pile of beribboned cards and other envelopes. I even found a tube of chocolate pieces, like M&Ms, and offered them to the professor. He seemed surprised but accepted them, eating silently as I munched contentedly on them and sorted eagerly through the rest of my mail. His harsh look told me he disapproved of chocolate for breakfast, but I blithely ignored him.

Among everything I received, besides that letter about the poems and the M&Ms, were a few cards, some more money (several Knuts, a few Sickles, and one Galleon total), and a few pictures. There was also a poster, of a childhood favorite: Magic Eye Puzzles. I pulled on a black bathrobe hanging from my headboard and got out of bed to hang it up. The snowy owl stirred as my actions half-woke her. "What on earth is that," Snape asked in a flat tone.

"It's a Muggle diversion," I explained. "One I happen to like." My mood was too good from the mail to be spoiled by a foul-tempered Professor who wasn't what he seemed to be. "To see the hidden images in the picture, you focus your eyes as though you're looking _through_ the paper. When the repeating pattern comes together, your eyes automatically adjust to see it. It's quite fun. I've solved two hundred twelve to this day." I was quite proud of it. I drew back and solved the puzzle on the lowest left of the eight. "This one, actually, is the Hogwarts Academic Crest. Interesting. That means this came from somewhere nearby or someone here made it." I moved away to stack my mail together.

Professor Snape rolled his eyes, drew his wand from his robe, and pointed it at the paper. _"Aparecium!"_ he commanded. With no more than a slight rustling sound, as though two sheets of paper were being rubbed together, the hidden images emerged and floated out in front of the squares, patterned exactly as the paper was. "Simple."

The three-dimensional figures were quite interesting, but I diverted my eyes. "Please put them back," I requested firmly. "I dislike having my games ruined." He waved his wand at the figures negligently. They melted back into the paper. "Besides, it's more fun to do it the Muggle way."

I dressed in the sort of uniform Professor McGonagall had for me when he left, as it was not proper for a man to remain in a lady's room while she dressed. The formal, rather stiff white shirt implied business, as did the vest, and the rather short pleated skirt seemed almost scandalous. I was surprised at the iron-willed professor. It was soon meaningless, however, with the addition of the black robe bearing the Hogwarts Academic Crest on it. All four House icons were on it because I had none yet: a hardworking badger for Hufflepuff, a snake for cunning Slytherin, the Gryffindor lion for courage, and the intelligent Ravenclaw eagle. The robe, skirt, and vest were black. I felt the color suited me as I examined myself in the full-length mirror on the back of the closet door. The shoes would need breaking in, of course, but they were surprisingly comfortable.

As I went back into the main room, I rolled up my sleeves. I had set my owl's cage on the bed; she was still inside. I opened the door to the cage, letting her adjust to the hand I slowly reached in toward her feet. "Sh-h," I whispered. I made soothing sounds to the owl as she stepped warily onto my outstretched arm. "That's a good bird." I lifted her out from the cage, stroking her feathers with one I found on the bottom of the cage, especially her chest. Birds like that. "How would you like a name?" The question was almost pointless to a bird, but she gave a soft hoot in answer. "I'll take that as a yes." My brow furrowed in thought. "Archimedes was the name of Merlin's owl, but he could talk. Hm…." I trailed off. "How do you feel about Pengern? Do you like that?" The quiet almost-chirp told me yes. "I'm glad, Pengern. Now, you have to promise to stay in my room, and not to fly off, and I'll let you stay out of your cage. Will you stay here and not fly away?" She hooted again. "You can rest on the headboard of my bed, then." I put her there, with a thick, tripled-over blanket so she wouldn't tear up the wood.

"Are you quite finished," the Potions Master call from the bottom of the stairs.

"I'm coming," I snapped angrily. "Will I need anything?"

"Bring your first-year books and your Latin lesson-book. You can study _that_ during your meals. And don't forget your wand," he added.

"Of course not," I muttered. I wondered why he placed so much worry on that thick volume. It was very strange. Then again, _everything_ was strange nowadays—at least for me.

After my first two-hour lesson with Professor McGonagall, however, I realized that most of the spells were in Latin, or were Latin-based. _So that's what he did it for. The more Latin I learn, the more spells I'll be able to accomplish and the easier they'll be. Not only will I know what words make what spells work, but I'll _know what they mean,_ which adds potency to a spell. The context and the intent are as important as the words and the motion._

This revelation added to my impression of my Instructor in the Art of Potions Making and the Defense Against the Dark Arts. The seeming nastiness he affected was a cover, but for what? The Latin book leaned in the direction of what was almost kindness, or concern. Neither really fit him in one's mind, but that was what he intended. Maybe he was trying, in some sort of obscure way, to skew my education so I would be Sorted into Slytherin. Then again, that didn't seem like the kind of thing he'd do, either. My confusion, which began with the Headmaster's last comments to the Professor, was growing steadily.

I sighed and made my way to History of Magic.

Professor Binns was _absolutely_ boring. There was no life whatsoever in his droning voice. I stayed awake by concentrating most of my attention on drawing little roses on the edges of my paper. When he said something worth writing down, I made a prompt note of it and listened on, adding leaves to the stems in the meantime.

At lunch, I was the only person in the Grand Hall. I ate my fill quickly, the silence weighing on me. Latin is not an easy thing to learn, and I was quite frequently making notes in a separate notebook on it. I knew that once I learned the conjugation formula, it would be easier, so I made a chart of everything and filled in some extra details before class.

Potions Making was the single most trying ordeal in my life. Not only was Professor Snape an imposing presence, he was also a man who had found the edge between rudeness and malice. His derision was mean enough to provoke, but not enough to justify retaliation. He demanded near-impossible perfection. Four hours with that man was sufficient to try anyone's resolve, and certainly their sanity; I had not only Potions, but also Defense Against the Dark Arts immediately afterward. With some effort, I restrained my temper and concentrated on getting through class. I would show him just how well I _could_ do things.

I fell into bed at the end of the day. The work was exhausting, and the load of homework was nearly overwhelming. Pengern had gone out to find some field mice or something to eat; she didn't like the large, silent Owlery. Maybe when the school year started up she would take to it, since there would be other owls there. For now, though, she stayed in the Hidden Tower with me, on my headboard when she slept and out the open window when she felt like flying.

For the next two months I didn't sleep in, I stayed up late, and every tutoring session—it wasn't quite class, since there was no real routine to anything—was nothing but business: books, quill, notes, and tests. Finals at the end of the first month were twice as bad; I got extra work because I was starting the next year, which included a lot of reading in my second-year books. My Latin studies also kept me distracted; I usually did that while in the Great Hall. I ate lunch quickly, sometimes skipping it altogether when I hadn't gotten a particular assignment done the night before. I went through ink and paper faster than anyone would have believed, and frequently sent Pengern to Diagon Alley to buy more. A note and a few coins was enough, and she always returned within two days, a new bottle of ink or notebook in tow. She was a very busy owl, but a faithful companion. My exchanges with the teachers who weren't instructing me now were brief, and often nonexistent, and Miss Pomfrey, the nurse, usually told me to get more sleep. I followed her advice as often as I could, but the workload was constantly too heavy. In what little spare time I could find, I sewed with my wand and a Sewing Charm to make new clothes for myself. I often stayed up late to finish these, hours past when I was finished with my homework. Dark circles developed quickly under my eyes.

Everything came to a head at the end of my second-year studies. I was tending the new batch of mandrakes as my Herbology final when everything suddenly blurred before my eyes. I paused in my work and shook my head, clearing whatever it was away. Once I regained sight, I finished my job. "Splendid, Sannovan," the dear woman said to me. "You did a fine job. I simply can't believe how well you've done over these past weeks. Studying as hard as you have been and keeping all your grades up…you're simply a wonder, my dear."

"Thank you, Professor Sprout," I replied. "If you'll excuse me, I have to wash up before my Potions final."

"Of course," she said. "I hope you do well!"

"Thank you," I called again, already running towards the castle and the nearest bathroom.

On my way up the hill, however, I ran out of breath more quickly than usual. I wondered at myself for a few moments, resting briefly. Usually I was rather fit, and could tackle this with less effort than it was taking me. I got up and tried again.

My exhaustion overcame me in five steps. I felt myself falling as the world flickered and dimmed. I tried to catch myself, but my arms would not work. The last thing I felt was how soft the moss beneath me was, and the last thing I remember was thinking that it would make a nice pillow. Then darkness filled my mind.


End file.
